


And the lullaby rewrites itself

by onewingedbutterfly



Series: Kommandant [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Euthanasia, Gen, Insanity, mentions of catholicism, mentions of judaism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewingedbutterfly/pseuds/onewingedbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mutation, as beautiful as it is, has both its strengths... and weaknesses... </p><p>And for him, he needed to appreciate both facets -- and navigate the thin line between them without losing himself to either...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1966 :: Reaching breaking point

**Author's Note:**

> (post XMFC; here, Darwin returned unscathed... and by 1966, the school would've opened with several key students...)
> 
> (again, I apologise -- the Erik/Charles is heavily implied, but it isn't the main focus... but unlike Part 2 of **Kommandant** , Erik and Charles get to speak rather freely in this piece)

It began, innocuously enough, with the New Year’s Eve Recital… 

She scheduled four recitals a year, to coincide with the usual examination periods. Sean could play his chosen instruments well enough, but lacked the discipline to advance; Darwin, when he returned, took to wind instruments like a fish to water (puns notwithstanding), and adored the jazz saxophone. 

She’d taught the two girls – Jean and Ororo – piano and violin respectively; Charles believed she doted on them as a way of ‘passing on her gift’, as their abilities manifested in mimicry to hers. Jean could project images (if not emotion) if she concentrated, and Ororo made the sky reflect her song (which, inevitably, changed the day’s weather patterns – but only within six miles of Westchester). 

Nonetheless, he could find no one else with her latent ability of soothing the soul with song (despite his teasings that _imitation is the sincerest form of flattery_ ); the uniqueness of it made it entirely hers, strangely alien in its presentation… Ever the scientist, he made notes on its effects on the human brain, one vs. many vs. a whole audience; he catalogued brain scans (with Hank) and analyzed mental processes (telepathically, by himself), as he did with every other mutant in his school… 

(what Charles never thought to do, however, was to evaluate the adverse effect of any mutation – let alone hers…) 

“Are you alright?” 

She startled badly, knocking over a bottle of pills; he frowned at them, recognizing them for what they were. She hid them from view, seating herself upon the edge of the hallway cabinet, [Do not judge me, Charles…] 

“I wasn’t going to,” he kept his voice light and low; still, he steered her to the seats by the bay windows, “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

She huffed, [I am, but I dream. It’s the nightmares…] She massaged the bridge of her nose, her gesture for exhaustion, [I’d rather not have them, thank you.] 

He patted her knee, “If you ever need a friend…” 

She smiled weakly, [I know where the study is…] 

“Of course…” 

And that was that… 

~*~ 

Hank finally sat down to sift through the waiting piles of paperwork during the students’ spring-break, content to spend days in his lab with a computer and a good book… Alex and Sean had left the mansion on recruitment, its membership aided by Cerebro (newly installed and rather impressive, if he dared to boast); the Professor was quiet most days, updating the curricular and attending to the administrative side of things… 

He scrutinized the staff-and-student’s medical records annually, in preparation for spot-checks from government agencies every now-and-again (he wondered if it were just his observations, but said agencies seemed rather fervent in finding flaws in an attempt to shut them down… that, or they really, really wanted them to succeed…). The files for public view was, however, significantly thinner compared to its actual archive – documents upon documents on the nature, mechanism and use of their mutation(s)… 

He supposed he should be used to this by now, employing the same strategy for filing government projects, back when he was working for the CIA. In some ways, this was better – there were names attached to the numbers, a personality behind every impossible detail. He related well to some, was a mere acquaintance to others; the Professor had mentioned it sagely, despite his easy grin, _You are human first, scientist second – and a mutant all-round_ … 

He’d been procrastinating over the most recent additions to the school – avian anatomy, to help little Warren Worthington… fire & ice metabolism, for John and Bobby respectively… higher-grade ruby quartz lenses for Scot— 

… a manila folder fell and scattered its contents all over the floor; ah, he’d been procrastinating over the part-time staff as well (seeing as they were usually off-site and therefore a lesser priority, or so he thought). He hadn’t looked into Evangeline’s file in nearly eight months, since the Professor kept better tabs on her than he did… 

Her brain waves, while consistent, were more pronounced during the last EEG; he attributed it to her age, or her maturing into her abilities… He examined it closer, made notations in the margins to check this peak, that dip, this jagged pattern and that minor plateau— 

“HANK, FIRST AID KIT…!!” the intercom he’d installed cackled to life, dividing his attention; he leapt into action, said kit in hand, bounding up the stairs, “Coming…!!” 

And he forgot about it for a while… 

~*~ 

Sean whooped for joy as he danced around the mansion with his mid-year examinations results – and he had aced several key components, to boot!! Unexpectedly, he’d scored rather well for music theory, and achieved a personal best for guitar and keyboard. He rushed up to tell his mentor the news… 

Hank stopped him at the door, “Don’t – Evangeline’s not feeling well…” He cleaned his glasses with his fur, and the Erin boy mused how cool it was, to have an ever-ready towel on hand (pun intended, haha…!!). “A migraine, the Professor thinks; she’s been rather sensitive to sound…” 

(which meant that Sean, being Sean, shouldn’t even *breathe* near her – ye gads, the boy was loud…!!) 

Inside her chambers, Charles held her hand and hovered a palm over her head. She’d requested for him to set up mental blocks within her mind, confessing that the last time she’d been sick, she’d accidentally projected her misery to her neighbours, making them cry and laugh at the strangest sounds thereafter (a cat’s meow, the rattle of windows, the beep of the garbage truck on Thursday afternoons). He’d agreed to it, and dove into her mind— 

He’d only been in her mind twice, despite their many sessions together. The first time was to ascertain her loyalties to the school; the second time was to understand her mutation… Both times, he’d remembered the distinct flow of her thoughts wrapped in a quiet lullaby with clarity… 

This time around, however, it was not so; blurred memories loosened from hidden places, each associated with a foreboding aria… One could almost touch the heavy sound and shudder with its repercussions – the images were non-descriptive to his eyes, but the rawness of emotion was not… 

He did his best to keep them at bay, erecting temporary barriers linked to her wakefulness – once she recovered, her consciousness would easily melt through its inhibitions, returning control over her own faculties. He honoured the trust she had in him to leave her mind unturned, to respect her need for privacy… 

(he’d done that with her brother-lover-friend, once; and though he longed to return to that beautiful mind, he knew he’d have to wait for Erik to return in his own time, on his own terms…) 

There was an invisible tide thrumming under the surface… It thrashed and roiled by turn, slinking away discreetly as if not wanting to be caught; when he reached out for it, it curled upon itself, enveloping its secrets – but oh, such sweet, haunting music from its core… He’d never noticed it before, because it played no part in her gift; he wondered if it complemented it instead – perhaps the center of her musical talent… 

It was a conundrum for another day; for now, he should withdraw and allow her to sleep… 

[Thank you.] she whispered as she felt the tendrils of _him_ slipping away. 

[You’re very welcome, my friend,] he returned. 

And he was gone… 

~*~ 

September came and went, and with it, the mansion hummed with activity once more as the school year reached its annual peak. Thus it came as a surprise to hear of her polite refusal in organizing the Autumn Recital, stating that Sean and Darwin would be taking over her reins for a season… 

[Sean could use the leadership role,] she bantered dryly, sipping at her wine (he reserved the scotch for playful-Erik, vodka for morose-Erik, whiskey for angry-Erik; besides, she liked his rose wines…). She shifted her knight forward… 

“Oh? So it wasn’t to get him off his lazy arse after all?” 

[Don’t be crude, Charles,] she scolded lightly, grinning all the same; then she winced in pain, partially covering her eyes, [Charles, I’ve something to tell you…] 

“Hmm…?” 

[I’m going to leave the school soon…] 

He set his glass down hastily, eyes wide with alarm, “What?? But your classe—Evangeline, are you alright?” 

She lifted her eyes with a sigh, [I… do not think so, Charles – I believe I’m having a mental breakdown…] 

He wheeled himself closer, “Is there anything I can help? I’ve been told I can read minds…” 

She laughed easily, [Thank you, but perhaps not yet… I can’t keep using you, Charles; I’m sure you have enough on your mind as it is…] 

He took her hand and kissed it, “Says the one who encourages the children to use her as a music-counselor…” 

[I do not burden myself with their thoughts, Charles,] she returned, touching his temple, [Therein lies the difference between you and I…] 

“Stay the winter,” he encouraged, “We can cordon off the music room if you like, make it off limits – just… don’t be alone in this state…” 

[I’d think about it…] 

~*~ 

(secretly, Charles was glad when she asked for the keys to the music room during the inactive months of November and December, indicating she’d taken his advice and offer to stay…) 

(he could not be more glad—or more horrified—at what her staying would entail…)


	2. … then all h*ll broke loose

At first, Alex thought someone was playing a prank – practicing at night, indeed…!! _Halloween was so two weeks ago…!!_ he reasoned, taking a detour to the music room before heading towards the bathroom… 

As he rounded the corner, however, he saw Evangeline – clad in a simple night-gown and silk robe, wild curls spilling over her shoulders, hunched over the mansion’s only cello… The Professor had warned them to leave Evangeline alone, citing that she was working on a new song… 

She must’ve come when inspiration struck, and had forgotten to shut the door in her haste… So he moved to do so, hoping to do her the favour; his mind wandered too close and touched the impossible sound of her composition— 

He crawled into his brother’s room that night and held him tight, promising he’d never let go, _never let go, I’ll protect you, always, always, always…_

~*~ 

Inspiration was one thing, but an obsession was an obsession; Hank knew it wasn’t healthy for one to be cooped up for days on end, buried in his or her passion (he spoke from experience, remembering the one time he had to be dragged from his lab and unceremoniously dumped in front of a dining table and told to _eat, d*mmnit, or we’re locking the lab and kicking you out—to Mexico—for the week_ …). 

Evangeline played for six days straight – two days on cello, four on piano… What concerned him was that she hadn’t eaten in the same six days—she hadn’t even paused to rest; and there was no way of getting to her through the locked door, now that the Professor had surrendered his only key to her… 

So he calmly (very calmly) asked Ororo to accompany him, to pick the lock for him (she stared at him petulantly and said _Professor said I shouldn’t_ ; to which he urged one last time, _Not even for Evie’s sake?_ and she reluctantly agreed). 

He should’ve realized something was wrong when the young one crouched by the door suddenly dissolved into tears, dropping her tools and began sobbing brokenly on the floor. He asked her what the matter was, and panicked when she shook her head, “I don’t know. Feel so alone. So very, very alone. But I’m not alone – I have you, and Jeannie and Scott and everyone. Why am I s-so sad?” 

He abandoned the task long enough to bundle her into his arms and hand her over to Darwin, their resident counselor. Evangeline must be projecting, but unlike the usual warmth of _joy_ expected of her abilities, this was an unexpected turn: why was Evangeline channeling _sorrow_ instead? 

He knocked, called out to her, dismantled the door knob— 

—and drowned in the most suffocating heartache he’d never known… 

~*~ 

It was hard, coming up with a strategy against their own. Sean was the most reluctant, as she was more than a mentor to him – a second-mother: one that smacked him more often than she encouraged, but a maternal-figure nevertheless… 

But the intensity of her projections bordered dangerous – none of the students could walk past the door without falling helplessly into fits of depression, for no apparent reason other than hearing the faintest sound. It leached from under the door and seeped into their very soul, and rendered them inconsolable for hours on end… 

Hank suggested sedation, to stop her from playing (she’d switched to her prized violin, the forbidding notes shredding through his confidence, leaving him feeling vulnerable); Sean had to shatter a specific window (the smallest one, to prevent excessive leakage), and Alex (with his military background) would shoot, aiming for her neck— 

The moment of truth: she glared at them through the window, and they faltered as—for one agonizing heartbeat—emotional pain flared up as physical pain. Sean crashed haphazardly onto the ground as Alex burst into a swirl of bright plasma energy… 

“Evangeline!!” Hank distracted her as he barreled through the doors by force; she whirled to face him, limbs swinging like a frightful doll. He hissed as if he’d been shot, catching his side; the Professor countered her brutally, fingers upon his temple, [This isn’t right, Evangeline – this isn’t *you*…!! Calm yourself… calm your mind…] 

Through the haze of _sadness/horror/anger/fear_ , she sent him a plea, shrill and sharp— 

[Charles. Help me.] 

And surrendered herself to black… 

~*~ 

_“Find Erik. Tell him Evangeline’s dying…”_

~*~ 

The _welcoming committee_ was anything but; he restrained himself from reacting too violently, choosing to growl at the fledging adults, baring his teeth. The younger ones shrank back a step, but Hank stood his ground, “The Professor wants to see you.” 

“I’m here for Evangeline.” 

To his credit, the young man softened his look, palms upturned in surrender, “Please – it’s important you be prepared…” 

He shifted uncomfortably – had Evangeline fallen so far? 

“Lead the way…” 

~*~ 

“Evangeline’s gift has magnified.” 

Charles looked… thinner, older… As if the weight of the world had finally settled upon his shoulders, and he could not, would not fail it— _not then, not now, not ever…_

Had it only been four years? 

“Charles…” he began anew, leaning forward in his chair, “What’s happened to her?” 

He gave a rueful smile, handing over a file; charts of various examinations and pages of observations spread upon his knees, key points highlighted in reds. It took forty-three seconds for him to piece the basics— 

“We’ve never understood her mutation; we’ve only analyzed its outward expression – that when she feeds us her music, we calm nearly instantaneously… We’ve always theorized it as a one-way transmission…” 

“It’s not?” he ventured, studying a report attached to a dozen brain scans and a myriad of EEG readings. 

“Far from it – her mutation functions on a feedback loop; she doesn’t neutralize our anger – she literally absorbs it, takes it away from us… she attenuates the pain by making it her own… she erases doubt, guilt, fear, stress – everything…” his hands shook, “She made it all go away, but it never _truly_ went away – it went to her…” 

Something caught in his throat – it made him hoarse with words, “What are you saying, Charles?” 

A defeated sigh, “I’m saying that the years of accumulation have finally taken its toll – Evangeline’s psyche can no longer cope with the darkness within her, and it’s ravaging her mind… 

“She’s projecting her madness, Erik – and I believe there’s nothing we can do to stop her…” 

~*~ 

To his eternal consternation, Erik donned the ridiculous helmet upon his head, shielding his thoughts; nonetheless, he reasoned it was oddly useful – while he could get nothing out, likewise, he could get nothing in either… 

Which, because her abilities worked rather the same way, it meant he was the only other one who could enter her makeshift sanctuary now, able to withstand the onslaught of projections, directed outwards… 

“Are those truly necessary?” Erik hissed, glowering at the manacles binding her to the bed; leather-and-iron, it reminded him of Herr Doktor’s medical room – he shuddered the memory away… 

“She kept at playing invisible instruments until she bled – we had to pry the real ones from her hands,” now that he mentioned it, most of her fingers were bandaged, those not looking dry and rough, skin peeling from friction burns; a bloodied violin under the bed served as a vicious reminder as well… 

“ _Mój Boże_ , Eva…” he wheezed, stroking the tilt of her face. 

“There’s more – the first time we confronted her, we discovered that she can project without sound; the music’s in her head, as foreboding as her thoughts. She _shrieked_ at us and overloaded our pain sensors – Sean broke an arm, and Alex had to re-train himself in the bunker…” a bottle was passed to him; the bulb of her IV jangled, “We’ve been keeping her under sedation these eight days past…” 

She was a danger to herself, a danger to others; but as long as she was asleep, she could keep the danger at bay… But they wouldn’t—couldn’t keep her in a comatose state forever—unless… 

“You didn’t call me here because she _*is* dying_ ,” realization dawned, its implications making him snap; he turned to stare disbelievingly at the other man across the bed, “You called me here to ask my permission, to _allow her to die_ …” 

~*~ 

Charles… hadn’t denied it… 

_“How would you know *this* is what’s best? Death, Charles – Evangeline’s death!! You would condone this?”_

_“What would you have me do, Erik…?”_

What disturbed him more, was *how* Charles had intended for it to occur… 

_“What *would* you have done, Charles? Pulled the plug, as it were? Suffocated her with a pillow? Or were you planning on strangling her with your bare han—”_

_“Lethal injection…” he replied calmly, showing him a velvet-lined case with a single syringe—already prepared!! He hung his head to hide his shame (or was it gall?)._

And then the last straw that broke his back— 

_“Blood on your hands, Charles? I didn’t think you had it in you. Or has Hank been authorized to administer euthanasia sinc—”_

_“You, Erik… It has to be you…”_

The ceiling crumpled, wall panels twisted – and for once, Charles did not say anything about it. 

~*~ 

Evangeline had learnt Polish, in the years they’d spent apart; it was the language she chose to write her journal entries… 

He hadn’t taught her more than six words – she’d picked up an impressive vocabulary on her own, arranged it into its grammar… A feat, considering her years; a breeze, considering her background… 

What caught his eye was that she addressed them all to him. 

_Ukochany_ , she began each entry, as if writing a letter; letters he’d never read, letters he’d had never known. It spoke of the big things ( _I really did love you_ ), the little things ( _I like butterflies, brand notwithstanding_ )… of dreams ( _I wish I could see you more often_ ), or visions ( _I’d like to start a music center – someday, one day_ )… 

It told the story of her life. 

One, in particular, made him ache and tremble with rage. It spoke of her one and only pregnancy – of the day she gained one _Erik_ , but lost her other _Erik_ … He’d been confused, reading and re-reading her narrative several times— 

He’d gasped – she’d borne a son, had named it _Erik_ (the only name sacred enough, her only reason to hope); Herr Doktor had taken it from her, had declared it weak… 

Had slaughtered it before her eyes… 

The strain of motherhood had destroyed her chances of bearing another child, willing or otherwise. He’d never asked about it, fearing awkward conversation; it was no wonder she never bothered with contraceptive methods, did not mind when or where he came… 

She’d truly been the perfect mistress. 

(he wondered about it, later in life: what would have happened, had it lived… had he known… had he met her under different circumstances… had he made an honest woman of her…) 

(no, he reasoned – Magda had been the love of his life… but Evangeline – she was his sister of hearts, ever ever after…) 

~*~ 

He’d negotiated delaying her dosage. He’d threaten to curl every syringe (* _especially_ * the one in its velvet casing) within thirty paces of her if they dared to oppose… 

Hank had given his counterargument, worried for the children; he cited all his reasons—real and imagined—why they shouldn’t risk it. 

_“If her abilities continue to magnify exponentially—as it did EIGHT DAYS AGO—Evangeline could literally *kill* someone by now…!!”_

Erik had shot him an impatient glare, snarling under his breath; but it was Charles who defused the impending bomb: 

_“Ready a lock-down and an automatic sensor to her drip – the moment you feel she’s out-of-control, you can put her down again…”_

A difficult compromise, when one considered the mechanisms to both as mechanical – he could tamper with them, truly, if he wanted to; but Charles would hold him accountable, and Hank needed to be subdued. Erik nodded his agreement. 

It took her nearly fourteen hours to break consciousness. Charles felt it first, dangerously attuned to her mind: one moment, he was drinking tea, the next, the china shattered at his feet, mind pierced by her vengeance— 

“PROFESSOR!!” 

Hank scrambled to her bed, frantically executing emergency protocols to her IV line—she turned her eyes to his person, and he _*howled*_ ; in his head, he felt himself _break to pieces_ , shards falling everywhere—everywhere— 

“EVANGELINE!!” 

And suddenly, it vanished – the wailing, the wrath, the wretched, wretched pain… 

[Erik.] 

~*~ 

_Vicious whispers, manic shrieks; a thousand voices, yet no one’s at all. Male, female—young, old—angry, sad, desperate, mad—played to the tune of a furious violin and a frightful harpsichord, the groan of a pipe-organ echoing in the distance…_

_Half-formed specters tore at him, faces familiar and unfamiliar all at once; they snarled and babbled in cadence, a death waltz of memories heavy with meaning – the trucks, the ghetto, the trenches of decay… the camps, the basement, the hospital rooms… dead Germany, frozen Switzerland, the Russian wastelands…_

_—he was sixteen, struggling wildly as they strapped him down upon an examination table, fearing the very metal he was challenged to control…_

_[Erik.]_

_—he was twenty-eight, terrorizing his lead to Schmidt / Shaw with his own knives found in his own kitchen drawer as he bit into his own dinner…_

_[Erik.]_

_—he was thirteen, reaching for a coin he could not move, when he should’ve been reaching for his mother – his sweet, sweet mother – instead…_

_[Erik.]_

_—he was twenty-two, sewing a bullet-wound with his bare hands, shaking with exertion as the alcohol coursing through his blood dulled both to numbness…_

_[Erik.]_

_—he was nineteen, rage unbidden, sowing destruction in his path: no knife, no bullet, no weapon against him – a god incarnate, such potential in his hands…_

_… only a tattered dress quelled his fury, found littered by a bloodied bundle on the floor; the broken remnants of a life remade, never the same…_

_“Hello, Erik.”_

_And the symphony screeched to a halt._

~*~ 

Of course it would be Erik; for there was nothing she could show him that he didn’t already know… understand… accept… No pain, no horror, no grief, no sadness – he’d lived through a lifetime acknowledging it, made companions with it, even… He deflected her projections as they shifted from snarling spirits to wailing wraiths to melancholic specters… 

_“You are not alone, Eva…”_

Thus, as long as Evangeline had Erik within her sight, she could quiet the demons renting at her soul. It did not improve her catatonic state – she did not speak to him (or sign to anyone else, for that matter); but it did not deteriorate her either. 

And she listened to Erik, was obedient to his every word. No one else could coax her to drink, to eat; but when Erik held a glass to her lips, she latched upon its rim and drank gracefully… when Erik broke bread for her with his hands, she opened her mouth for him and ate in blessed submission… No one else could get her to sleep without medication either ( _make it stop, make it stop, please please make it stop makeitstop*makeitstop*!!_ ); but when Erik hushed her and held her head, she curled about him like a lamb and settled to slumber against his shoulder… 

From afar, Charles stared at how she held his hand—or was it him holding onto hers? 

He regretted the jealousy welling up within him, the instant he understood its greater implications… 

~*~ 

Of course it would be him; for there was no one else who knew of her past as he did – of what she’d done, or what was done to her… of what she was before, and what she’d become after… of what her life was, is, would be—could be… 

_—she’d fed him visions, of humans clutching their heads, screaming aloud and in their minds…_

He pondered her potential: of how, at his command, he could bring the world to its knees – a terrifying weapon… the *ultimate* weapon… What defense would humanity have against their own fear/guilt/anger/grief? If she could debilitate even _*Charles*_ , whom he knew possessed the most brilliant mind, who would—could stand against them? 

_—she could weave an opus of oppression, a serenade of sorrow; they would drown in their misery, drown and die like drunken fools…_

The better men—and women; they’d weed out the weak, thus allowing natural selection to speed up the cycle of evolution… A new creation: _Homo superior, Meta sapien_ …!! The thought thrilled him to the core— 

_—and she grinned, manic glee glittering in her eyes, as they fell like flies at her feet; a battlefield of writhing and withering corpses, pleading for mercy upon deaf ears…_

(strange irony, he thought – that no one had ever heard her scream, but she would remember a lifetime of lives…) 

He gripped her hand harder, “That’s enough, Evangeline.” 

She retreated from him, retreated to herself, and all was quiet once more… 

~*~ 

He remembered. 

_“I’ve hurt them, haven’t I?” she spoke—and for one clear moment, though he’d never heard her speak before, he knew the voice to be hers, its lilt comforting with its soft accent, “I’ve hurt you, too…”_

_He kissed the hands cradling his face, holding them close, “We’ll fix this, Eva – we’ll fix you…”_

_She laughed lowly, shaking her head, “There’s nothing more you can do for me, Erik…”_

_He hardened his eyes, “I refuse to believe that; come back to me, Eva – come back *with* me…”_

_“To what, Erik? To the knife-edge borderline between sanities?” she sighed, gesturing at herself, at what was behind her; she guarded a cage of wretched shadows, silver chains looped over and around her shoulders and waist – the only entity standing between her darkness and her light, “Would you have me lose myself to this? Would you have me become—“_

_“Them.”_

_Them—them, the Nazis, come to take them from their homes, snatch them from their beds… them, murderers, numb to the beat of their human hearts… them, monsters, in the guise of human skin…_

_He understood. Nevertheless, understanding did not equate acceptance of the fact; he held her tighter, eyes prickling with tears he promised himself not to shed, “E-eva…”_

_“Do right by me, Erik,” she coalesced into brightness, and he tried to hold on—don’t go… don’t leave me… no, no, neverleaveme—neveragain; the light became too much, too white—_

_“Promise you’ll do right by me…”_

He refused to remember anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the baby Evangeline had was mentioned in Part 1 of **Kommandant** \-- and yes, Shaw would've likely had it disposed)
> 
> (inspirational piano pieces that may drive you a little insane yourself -- try Death Waltz on loop)


	3. Savouring the border…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the full title should read 'Savouring the border, between rage and serenity'; a play on Charles' words to Erik)
> 
> (this chapter is focused on Evangeline; Erik's influence on her life comes in towards the end...)

Charles sent the children away on a proposed vacation. 

_“We’re going to Disneyland? Really?”_

He kissed them each on the forehead, and waved them off cheerfully… 

Only Alex and Darwin—newly appointed chaperone to eight sugar-filled, _spirit_ -filled kids—knew the true reason behind his abrupt plans… 

~*~ 

_“It’s time.”_

~*~ 

She looked too pale against the ivory… 

Her hands looked too frail, wrist too thin to support its movement across the black-and-white keys… 

… but the light that entered her eyes—clouded emerald green clearing, a spark igniting, flaring to flame—was a miracle on its own… 

“Play for me, Evangeline…” 

The first sounds came out disjointed, and he wondered if it’d been too much to hope – but then she closed her eyes and settled her thoughts—and the music _flowed_ from her… 

He could’ve stopped her if he wanted—could’ve asked her to stop everything. 

He didn’t… 

A sharp intake of breath – her gift had expanded, indeed; the onslaught of images linked to its projected emotion felt staggeringly heavy, as multiple fractals of memories assaulted him from all sides – past, present, perhaps even predictable future… 

Shaky hands reached out to her as he trembled to kiss her crown, “Not mine, Evangeline; show me yours…” 

The shift was immediate, and he groaned as he fell to his knees, forehead pressed into her back; but he would allow this, would allow _her_ this – the myriad of moments making up her life… 

_Sobbing over a broken doll, a lost kitten, Mama’s final breath… Waving goodbye to her father and brothers, dressed for war… Locked in the Kommandant’s quarters that first night, thoughts running wild… Finding herself alone in America, with only a forgotten lullaby in her head…_

“ _Peace_ , Evangeline – show me _peace_ …” 

_Curling up against her brother’s lap as he told her stories, of sleepy forests and enchanted seas… Listening to the rain outside the hospital window, finally realizing she was alive—she had survived… Being accepted as a continuing student at the Academy, later as a faculty member… Drinking hot chocolate on winter nights as she watched the fire fade and ebb to embers…_

“ _Joy_ , Evangeline…” 

_Hearing her twin sisters call for her, pressing sticky chocolate-kisses to her cheeks… Staring at her new citizen’s pass, announcing her new identity… Bowing to a standing ovation at a presentation dedicated in her name… Caressing the strings to her own violin—her *first* violin—shipped in by her long-lost sisters from her once-home…_

“ _Love_ …” 

_Praying for Papa at the pew, begging for God to bring Papa and Jean-Pierre and Raoul home… Bartering her virtue for the sake of Arianne and Danielle, pretending to guard a tea-cabinet to distract the soldiers from their true hiding place beneath the floorboards… Keeping silent vigil over a delirious Sean, sponging his brow to bring down a fever threatening his life… Celebrating her first Christmas in the mansion, teaching the girls how to make the perfect crème brûlée…_

He gasped. 

_Learning his name as she memorized the colour of his eyes, fingers tracing the letters to it on the floor, the walls, her palm… Kissing him for the first time, unmindful of Herr Doktor’s watchful gaze, willing herself to believe he cared… Having him find her again – forgetting the absent years, the painful distance – and reveling in the realness that he was there…_

_Listening to him laugh into her mouth; laughing back as he tickled her under her bared rib (fourth on the left, always the fourth)… Listening to him recite quiet prayers as she mimed lighting a chanukkiah to his words, mouthing them in cadence… Listening to him tell her he loved her, over and over and over again – and refusing to let her heart be broken when he told her goodbye in the same breath…_

_Erik, be safe… Erik, where are you?… Erik, come home… Erik, are you alright?… Erik, don’t die… Erik, I miss you—Erik, I want—Erik, I need—Erik, please—Erik, Erik, ErikErikErik—_

Her hand froze over a chord, the sharpness of sound echoed painfully in his head; but he heard nothing but the frantic beat of her heart, thudding too fast, too fast… 

The mechanism attached to her intravenous line clicked shut, signaling completion. He forced himself to release its trigger— 

She collapsed against his sturdy frame, boneless and trembling; Charles had promised it would be quick and painless—he’d promised…!! Had he miscalculated? Made a mistake—? 

[Erik.] 

He’d heard it—heard * _her_ *; stars, perhaps * _he’d_ * been affected after all, gone mad with the rest of them— 

[I can only spare you forty seconds, Erik – please do not waste them, my friend…] 

[Erik,] she tried again with a wan smile, and he looked down to see her lucid—but with eyes too bright and fading fast; d*mn Charles for his meddling—this was a boon he would not—could not refuse, “Eva… I-I’m so, so sorry—” 

[Shh…] she soothed, the blinking of her eyes slowed by great effort, [You saved me in the end—you _always_ save me in the end…] White hands reached out for his face, roughened and lined by sleepless nights, [It’s time to save yourself, Erik – let go…] the touch of her papery lips upon his brow became too much, too much— 

[… love you always…] 

—he hadn’t known how truly deafening her silence could be till that very moment…


	4. And the lullaby rewrites itself

He was grateful to Charles, but only to a point—and that point did not extend to the younger man keeping his * _sister_ * after her death. 

_“It’s what you called me here for,”_ he retorted vehemently, _“Evangeline comes with me—”_

_“And what would you do, Erik? Bury her—where? Cremate her—how?”_ for one forced to spend the remainder of his life in a wheelchair, Charles exuded the same fierce confidence as he did as a whole, _“We would honour her here, on the grounds; we would section off the east side – away from the main house, so the children aren’t reminded – and you can visi—”_

The thought of a _communal grave_ made him shudder with cold – the association of the mass burial grounds a loathsome reminder to them both; the idea of her in an _urn_ brought a frown to his face – more so because neither his Judaism nor her Catholicism allowed interment by incineration… 

… wait—Catholicism? 

_“Write to her sisters – tell them what’s happened…”_ he spoke impassively, gathering unto himself, _“She doesn’t belong to either of us, Charles; she belongs to her family…”_ a defeated sigh, but a resolute promise, _“I will take her there – I will take her home…”_

It was out of respect for the dead—not the living—that he did not slam the doors to her room. 

~*~ 

Azazel stared up at him, “That is a _dead body_ , comrade…” 

He growled at the Russian, but bit back the urge to retort. “Evangeline Renae passed away yesterday’s eve,” he barely paused when the other startled, eyes made wider by surprise, “Can you teleport a casket across the sea?” 

“My sincerest condolences…” and he meant it, for he’d seen—he’d known what this woman was to his master (how Magneto went to her, all flame and fury, and return as Erik, tempered and still, fragile humanity restored and intact), “I’ve never tried—but yes, I believe I can transport the both of you…” 

“To the Convent of Annonciades then – Bordeaux, France…” 

~*~ 

Charles’ telegrams were sent ahead of him – thus, by the time he reached his destination, he’d been ushered quickly into the main office with minimal fuss. The Abbess herself had not arrived, but her sisters were already there— 

He’d expected for them to react, truly – what he hadn’t expected was the paperweight thrown to the wall next to him, missing his head (whether it’d been deliberate or accidental, he did not know). The taller twin—Danielle, he remembered Evangeline saying, boyish and wild—seethed at him, “So, you are _*the* Erik_ …!!” 

The other—Arianne, Evangeline spoke of her too, sweet and small—restrained her, pleading in French; Danielle argued back, broke to fresh tears, and stormed out of the back door. Arianne called for her twice, sighed, and turned to him, “Apologies – our sister was dear to us; the news has left us shaken…” 

He nodded awkwardly, “For what it’s worth, I share your grief – Evangeline was precious to me also…” 

She gave a watery smile, “We know – our sister mentions you constantly by name…” She paused, eyes upon the right side of his vest, “You are a Jew; you called her _sister_ …” 

He touched the rent cloth reflexively; in all honesty, he had been surprised he’d remembered how to perform a _keriah_ —which side to tear and for how long he had to keep it on… He hadn’t even the chance to do so for his parents, but for Evangeline— 

“As I said, she was precious to me also…” 

She stood over him, rosary in hand, and uttered a prayer in Latin; she explained, “We have thanked you for many years – our sister’s unnamed saviour… We are glad you found her, and she you; may God bless you richly, Erik Magnus Lehnsherr – _Amen_ …” 

He swallowed—because, for a long moment, it was not Arianne that stood before him, but Evangeline; it sounded like something Evangeline would say, felt like what Evangeline would do—and his birth name… barring his parents, no one else knew to call him by his full name before… 

It was then, and only then, that he allowed himself to grieve… 

~*~ 

He’d refused to attend her service, wandering the damp cemetery instead; he’d explained he was exercising his right to _shivah_ , removing himself from public gatherings till the Jewish mourning period was over… 

(he hadn’t told them that his right to it had expired the sunset before; he just didn’t want to pretend to be polite, was all…) 

Arianne had given him directions to where their sister would be laid to soil – past the chapel, third on the right, under the natural canopy of a tree (stripped bare by winter at present—but would be wonderfully full by spring); the cold earth had been freshly wounded in the morning, made ready for its eternal resident – the setting was exactly as he’d expected… 

(he came to bury her violin with her, since he did not include it earlier at her feet; he would hollow out a smaller void with his bare hands, he would…) 

… except he found Danielle, kneeling before two already-existing headstones, tears frozen upon her cheeks; he moved to walk away— 

“I hated you,” she spoke bitterly, fisting the robe at her knees, handkerchief crumpling, “I hated you for finding her first—you, not us… I hated you for being everything we weren’t—everything we couldn’t… I hated you for keeping her sane, keeping her safe—then and always, even now…” she glared up at him, eyes wept red, “But most of all, I hated you for loving her—and she loving you—because it was the one thing we would ever compete for, but never win…” 

(he knew of _the reunion_ —of how Charles had taken them to New York, where Evangeline had promised to write but would not return to France with them—that she was, on one hand, their sister… but having lived her life, she could never truly * _be_ * their sister—the one they knew, the one they wanted back in their lives…) 

It suddenly made him think of how he’d treated Charles—rather, how he’d _abandoned_ Charles in Cuba, long years ago; how his thirst for lofty ambitions had driven them to part, even as the thread between them strengthened by braids… 

“… and now?” 

“I hate you all the same,” she grated out, but the waver at its end belied its intensity, “But Ari respects you for the very same reasons I do not, and it’s miserable being alone in my hatred…” She hardened her stare, “Eva would’ve forsaken us for you—would’ve forsaken our faith for yours…!!” Ah, the crux of it all—a wracked sob, “I only ever wanted Eva to love us as much as she loved you…!!” 

He pulled her to him—he was no comforter, no counselor—perhaps this was only to make up for all the times he didn’t do so for her sister; she battered at his chest with tiny fists, but it lacked rage as she crumbled to her sorrow, sobbing brokenly at his shoulder. 

In the end, maybe he understood it best—the impossible dichotomy between resentment and regret; and so he let her cry—let her cry till all the hurt bubbled and bled to the surface—to make room for new light… 

~*~ 

He never did bury the instrument. 

_“E-eva…” the younger twin sobbed, holding the case so close, so close to her heart; the elder twin embraced her and turned to him with glassy eyes, mouthing, “Thank you.”_

Instead, he listened to the twins duet a piano-and-violin piece at the close of Mass—the first song he heard her play, near two-and-a-half decades ago. 

There was no whirlwind of images this time, no touch of warmth of her gift; but it comforted him nonetheless, knowing that she’d left enough of her legacy in each of them… 

_Do right by me, Erik._

_Always, Evangeline._

And the lullaby rewrites itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the Convent of Annonciades in Bordeaux, France, is a true nunnery for catholic believers; I'd like to think that Arienne / Ari and Danielle / Dani would've served there in the years after the war...)

**Author's Note:**

> (31 may update :: minor errors edited)


End file.
